


When the Walls Collapse

by sheriffandsteel



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Gendrya - Freeform, Spoilers for 8x05, arya stark deserves a happy fucking ending, hopefully it'll make other people feel a little better too, i wrote this to make myself feel better about that garbage episode, if the show won't give it to her I will, lots of angst with a happy ending, post 8x05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 21:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheriffandsteel/pseuds/sheriffandsteel
Summary: She had spent so much time training herself not to feel anything, trying to be No One. She had spent the majority of her life building a wall around herself thicker than the one Bran the Builder had made. What was she supposed to do now that the wall was crumbling down?~~After the destruction of King's Landing Arya returns home and tries to learn how to live with herself again.





	When the Walls Collapse

As she mounted the horse that had emerged from the smoke before her like a ghost Arya had only one thought in mind: she was going to go and kill the queen. It wasn’t the queen that she had set out to King’s Landing to kill but since Sandor had talked her out of killing the one on her list (her heart ached surprisingly hard at the thought of him) she would have to kill the one that was bent on killing them all indiscriminately. 

Arya blinked blood and ash from her eyes, her fingers curled tight around the horse’s reins as they set off in the direction of the circling dragon, not as fast as she would have liked but the horse seemed as weary and disorientated as she was. 

Leaning backwards slightly Arya watched with a detached sense of wonder as the dragon opened its mouth and a great spew of fire came forth again, more buildings collapsing in its wake and more screams being silenced. To think she had once wanted to see a dragon in the flesh, what a foolish little girl she had been. 

She dug her heels into the horse’s sides, gentler than she normally would have to urge it forward. The dragon had stopped some streets ahead and was perched on the edge of one of the few buildings left standing. Arya steered the horse quickly away from falling rumble and coughed as ash and dust rose up around them. There were no screams or crowds on this street but Arya passed several charred corpses, fighting down a swirl of nausea at the smell of their burned flesh. 

From her vantage point on the street she could see that the Dragon Queen was yelling down to someone else on the building, she could even hear the sound of her voice but she was not yet close enough to make out the words. Arya kept her eyes on Daenerys and was so intent on reaching the queen that she almost missed it when someone else began to climb up on the dragon beside her. 

Arya only knew of one other person beside the Dragon Queen foolish enough to climb on the back of a fully-grown dragon. She felt her heart raise into her throat as she bent over the neck of the horse trying to urge it to fight through its exhaustion and get her to the dragon faster. 

She looked up just in time to see a body fall from the back of the dragon and down onto the streets below. She would have shouted in fear but before she had time to wonder about who had just fallen, she saw the now familiar figure still on the back of the dragon climb carefully up its roaring and twisting neck to shove a sword through its eye. 

XxX 

The ringing in her ears had yet to fade even when King’s Landing was no longer in sight. Arya tilted her head each way to see if it would help lessen the ringing but all it did was make her feel dizzier. 

She felt slightly adrift, like she was on a rowboat in the ocean with no oars and no land in sight to swim to. The Dragon Queen was dead, the last of the dragons had died with her. The lion queen was dead too judging by the state of the castle when Arya fled the city. Even if she wasn’t dead yet, she would be soon enough when the Northmen took the castle. 

When the dragon had fallen with a final roar and short burst of flame Arya had ridden as hard as she and the horse could managed to reach its body. They passed the fallen queen on the way and Arya spared her a look of sadness as they passed, she had hoped this queen would be a good one. 

She did not see Jon anywhere on the ground and for one horrible moment she thought that perhaps the dragon had crushed him on its fall to the street before a shot above her drew her eyes skyward. 

Jon leaned over the edge of the building he was laying on, blood coating half of his face as he sat up and waved down at her. 

Arya felt dazed with relief as she rose her hand to wave in return. He smiled at her then, exhausted and sad but a smile nonetheless, and Arya released a dry sob at the sight. A sudden sense of hopelessness filled her and Arya spared Jon one last look before urging the frightened horse around the dragon’s body and down the broken streets in the direction of home. 

XxX 

They didn’t make it very far that first day. 

The horse was even more tired than her and Arya didn’t feel right about making it carry both of their weights. She urged it forward until King’s Landing was no longer in sight and they found a small trickle of water off the side of the road. She all but fell from the horse’s back and her feet had barely hit the ground before the horse collapsed and it leaned forward to drink greedily from the stream. Arya patted it fondly on the head before falling to her knees beside it and doing the same thing. 

The water tasted like blood and ash in her mouth and Arya’s face scrunched in disgust as she turned her head to the side and spit the water out beside her. She coughed against the taste in her mouth as she bent over the stream again to wash her mouth out once more before she drank. She could just make out her reflection the water and a distorted white and red face stared back up at her. 

She was not at all surprised to find that she recognized Arya Stark even less than she would have recognized No One. 

XxX 

After resting the rest of the day and the night by the stream Arya deemed the horse and herself rested enough to continue on their way as dawn broke. She had washed the worst of the ash and blood from her face but she still felt coated in death and destruction. There were several cuts across her face and she could tell from her stiff movements that her body was covered in bruises. 

Her ears were still ringing and her head ached something awful and in truth all she really wanted to do was lay down somewhere warm and fall asleep but Arya knew if she did that the chances were she might not get up again. She kept the horse moving forward and herself with it. Arya knew if they stopped and rested for too long, she would never keep going. She would never find her way home. 

She felt like a piece of fractured glass that had not yet broken. If someone touched her at all she would shatter into pieces. 

XxX 

She was not sure how long they had been traveling when they reached a familiar inn. It could have been days, maybe weeks. Time had lost any sense of meaning to her with no one but herself and the horse (whom she had decided to name Joramun in a moment of clarity long enough to be clever) for company. 

Arya felt her blood run cold at the thin tendril of smoke rising from the inn’s chimney but the sudden fervent growl in her stomach made her press forward. Reminding herself that the smoke was from a controlled fire and not a dragon she passed Joramun’s reins to a stable boy who eyed her curiously before limping her way into the inn. Every part of her body hurt more and more each day. 

At the sound of the door opening the few people in the inn turned curious faces toward her, taking in her disheveled appearance with disdain that quickly passed into realization and curiosity. 

“Which queen won?” a woman nursing a babe by the fire asked as she eyed Arya up and down. 

“Neither.” Arya croaked; her voice hoarse from disuse. The people around her tittered at that and began shouting questions at her to press for more information. If it wasn’t for the growling in her stomach Arya would have turned and left. 

“Let her eat.” a familiar voice suddenly cut out and Arya looked up in relief to see Hot-Pie approaching her, a heaping plate and cup in his hands as he grinned at her and motioned with his head for her to follow him to the back table which was mercifully vacant. Arya did so gratefully, all but falling onto the bench as she reached for the food before she even sat down. 

The people in the inn were still trying to ask her questions but with the ringing in her ears and over her own chewing Arya could not hear them. Hot-Pie sat down carefully in front of her, watching her with interest. Arya nodded her thanks at him as she tried to fit more food than was possible into her mouth at once. It was only after her first bite that she realized she hadn’t eaten since before she arrived in King’s Landing. She hoped the stables where providing Joramun with plenty of food as well. The food was doing little to break through the cloak of grief shrouding her but it was making her feel slightly human again. 

“Want to talk about it?” Hot-Pie asked gently as she finished her food and licked her fingers clean in a move her lady mother would have berated her for greatly. 

Arya found she couldn’t meet his eyes as she shook her head no. If she talked about it, she would have to remember. She would have to think about Sandor telling her to leave and face the reality that he was more than likely dead. She would have to think about Jon and how she had abandoned him down there in that gods forsaken city. Mostly she would have to think about the man she was trying very hard not to think about but could not shake from her mind. Hot-Pie's presence was doing very little to help that. 

She wanted to tell him that Gendry was alive but she no longer knew if that was true. She had not seen him in the capital but that did not mean that he wasn’t there. She didn’t want to tell Hot-Pie he was alive because she felt like saying the words aloud would make them not be true. 

Hot-Pie seemed like he very much wanted to press her for information, for stories about the battle and what she meant by neither queen had won. Maybe he wanted to ask her if she had seen the dragon up close to which she would only be able to shudder in response too. 

She could still smell the burning bodies. 

But Hot-Pie had a gentle heart and he must have been able to see her grief and exhaustion on her face for he did not press her for answers. Instead he led her past the incessant questions and prying eyes to a small room at the top of the stairs. 

“You can stay here for the night. I already had Jenye bring up some hot water.” Hot-Pie said as he opened the door to a narrow but warm room with a small tub of steaming water and a bed in the corner. 

Arya felt her heart sink at the sight of it. She didn’t know if she deserved a warm bed when so many people no longer had one. That was if they were even alive and well enough to want for a bed. 

Her hand drifted to her hip for her coin purse and she started a little to find it missing. It must have torn off her belt in the chaos of the capital. 

“I don’t have any money.” Arya whispered, feeling tired down in her bones. She might have felt guilt at the thought of a bed but that did not mean the sight of it didn’t make her want to fall onto it at once. 

“Don’t need no money.” Hot-Pie reassured her with a small grin as he shuffled away from her to return to his work. 

“I have to pay you.” Arya called after him as she shook her head slowly. She knew by now that nothing in life was free. 

“You already have.” Hot-Pie explained turning back to her and looking like he wanted to steer her into the room but was afraid to touch her. “What’s a bed for a life?” 

As Arya watched him walk away, she felt a miniscule part of her lift out of the darkness in gratitude. It seemed she had been wrong when she told Jon she didn’t need many allies, she had more than she had even realized. 

XxX 

The warm bath had felt better than almost anything she had ever felt (second only to a dark night in a forge that she tried very hard not to think about) and she left the water dark with soot, dust and blood. She awoke in the morning feeling more like Arya Stark than she had felt in a long time and knew that this rest and food was just what she needed to finish making the journey home. 

She had slept soundly through the night despite her worries that the nightmares that had begun to plague her on the journey would bother her again. But with her stomach full and her body clean she had been too exhausted to dream. 

It was a welcome relief. 

Despite her sound slumber she woke before the sun, the inn quiet around her as she dressed in clothes she had scrubbed clean the best she could. Some blood could still be seen around the collar. They had been hanging by the fire all night so they were warm against her skin as she put them on. 

She refastened Needle to her belt, the slight weight a welcome feeling. Her fingers paused as she made to fasten the Valyrian steel dagger to her other side. This was the weapon that had almost killed her little brother, a move that had helped start the first of many wars. This was the blade that she had used to kill Littlefinger, the one that had killed the Night King. This small blade was the cause of so much heartache. 

Arya was already carrying enough heartache inside of her, she didn’t need to carry any on the outside as well. 

Running her fingers over the weapon one last time Arya carefully set the dagger down on the bed where whoever came in to clean the room would easily find it. The cost of Valyrian steel would more than pay for her room and meal. 

She did not spare the knife another thought as she slipped soundlessly out the door. 

Arya was in the middle of coaxing Joramun out of the stables when the sound of footsteps made her turn. 

Hot-Pie stood behind her with a small cloth bag hanging from his hands. 

“I made you some bread. For the road.” he offered, extending the bag out towards her. 

Arya took it gratefully; she had once again forgotten about taking food with her for the journey. She slung the bag over her shoulder before tears suddenly sprang to her eyes. Arya blinked them back furiously as she stepped forward and threw her arms around Hot-Pie. 

She had spent so long thinking that she didn’t have a pack anymore that she hadn’t realized who all was in it. Hot-Pie patted her carefully on the back in surprise, squirming slightly at her sudden closeness. Arya couldn’t shake the feeling that he was slightly scared of her. She wondered if stories of the Battle of Winterfell and the Night King had reached this far yet. He would certainly never look at her without wonder after that. 

Arya hoped those stories never reached this little inn. 

“Thank you.” she whispered before pulling away and looking carefully into his face. She wanted to remember every part of it because she was certain she would never ride south again. 

XxX 

The inn and Hot-Pie had managed to distract her from her grief momentarily but once she was alone on the road again Arya found it consumed her. The weather turned worse the further north they went but Arya was grateful for the cold. Even the heavy rain storms gave her relief for it felt like the weather and the sky were crying for her. 

Arya desperately wanted to mourn all of the people lost in King’s Landing, wanted to cry for herself and even for the last dragon but she knew that once the tears fell, they would not stop. Once she let herself feel the grief that was lurking inside of her, she would not be able to get it to leave for a long time, if ever. So, she pressed on relentlessly, through driving snow and biting winds. 

Late one night as Joramun tried to fight through the harsh wind sending snow flying into their eyes and Arya’s hair snapping around her face Joramun suddenly startled, letting out a frightened neigh as he bucked slightly. Arya held fast to him and curled her fingers into his mane to calm him as she peered through the snow to see what he was seeing or sensing that was causing him such a fright. 

She felt her stomach sink as she began to hear growling over the sound of the wind and the ringing that had yet to leave her ears. Arya could just make out dark shapes through the snow as they crept closer, surrounding them on all sides. She bit out a bitter laugh that she had survived the Battles of Winterfell and King’s Landing only to be eaten by wolves in the snow. 

At least it was a very Stark way to die. 

A bubble of hysteria wound past her lips and she was just about to dismount, hoping the wolves would choose to stay and take the smaller target and Joramun could flee to safety when there was a sudden snapping up ahead of them. Arya braced herself for the bite of teeth but found herself bewildered as she realized that the snapping was a wolf biting at the others to back away from the pair. 

Noticing the size of the great wolf before her some of the tension in Arya’s shoulders relaxed. 

“Nymeria.” she breathed just as the wolf turned her head to face her. There was a long scar down her face that had not been there before but Arya felt like she could see recognition in her eyes even through the snow. 

The growling stopped and Arya watched with held breath as the wolves slowly backed away. Joramun fidgeted anxiously beneath her until the last of the wolves was gone from their sight and then he bolted in fear, Arya holding tight to him as he fled, her laughter trailing out behind them and lost in the wind. 

XxX 

That was not the last time they saw the wolf pack. 

Arya began to notice paw prints in the fresh snow around them when they awoke and she would often catch wolves in the corner of her eye as they made their way through the Riverlands. She caught Nymeria more than once snapping at one of her pack who tried to get too close to the pair. Arya didn’t know what she had done that led to the wolf she had once been foolish enough to think she could keep as a pet to stay with them to lead them to safety but Arya welcomed it with relief. She was so tired at this point she did not think she would be able to fight if anyone or anything tried to attack them. The pain from her wounds had mostly faded and now she was just left with the weariness of travel and a grief so sharp she could feel it in her bones. 

She wasn’t even sure what all she was grieving, Sandor? The city? Jon? For she had surely lost him too, despite seeing him alive as she left. 

The rest of the road home was lost to her in a cloud of snow and remorse and Arya was glad for the wolf packs’ protection. It had been so long since she had wanted the protection of others and she was still getting used to accepting help at all. Arya wondered if she would ever be able to accept it without feeling like she was being weak. 

She had no idea how long it took them before Winterfell was on the edge of the horizon but the food Hot-Pie had given her was long gone and Arya felt like she would no longer be able to stand straight if she did not dismount soon. 

She urged Joramun forward but paused when she noticed that the wolf pack, who had been in front of them this whole time, had fallen to the back, staying at the tree line even as she and Joramun pushed forward. Her heart sunk at the sight but she nodded in understanding, they would go no further. Her time with the pack had come to a close. 

She slipped off of Joramun’s back to slowly approach Nymeria who stood ahead of all the others. Even after all this time of traveling together and none of the wolves hurting her Arya still felt her heart in her throat as she approached the direwolf, who was longer than Arya was tall. Joramun tittered in warning behind her. Nymeria eyed her wearily as Arya stuck her hand out, palm facing upwards. A long moment passed and Arya was just about to drop her hand when Nymeria stepped forward slowly, the thick fur of her face bumping into Arya’s cold fingers. 

“Thank you.” Arya whispered, her eyes drifting from Nymeria to take in the whole pack standing stiffly behind her, pawing at the ground. They didn’t understand why they couldn’t feast on her and Joramun, surely they were an easy picking meal as weak as they were. But they listened to their alpha and they did not attack, even now. 

Arya ran her fingers lightly over Nymeria’s face, her fingers tracing the thick scar. “Thank you, my friend.” Arya whispered, hoping that those words would cover it all. 

Thank you for helping them find her way home, for saving her from that wretched prince all those years ago. For being her friend through it all. Arya had never been one for goodbyes but it seemed that was all she was getting these days as Nymeria watched her with eyes more lifelike than some of the people she had met before turning her back and leading her pack silently into the woods. 

XxX 

They don’t ask for her name at the gate, they already recognize her. Apparently, her killing the Night King was turning her into the stuff of legend. A servant offered to take Joramun to the stables for her but Arya declined, leading him there herself. Now that she was in Winterfell she felt suddenly frightened of what she might find there. She wondered if her ghosts had traveled with her. 

She fed, watered and brushed Joramun down before she headed into the castle. It was well into the night already and she did not expect an answer to her knock but she knocked on Sansa’s door anyway, hoping she would still be awake. 

The door opened almost immediately and her sister stood before her, smiling slightly as she looked Arya up and down for wounds and found nothing serious. 

“They told me you were here but I thought you might need a minute alone.” Sansa admitted as she stepped back so Arya could come inside. She felt relieved that Sansa did not try to hug her. If she did that Arya was sure to break. She didn’t know if she had enough left in her to put herself back together. 

“Have you heard anything?” Arya found herself asking, her voice rough. She did not have to clarify what she meant. 

“Jon sent a raven. They are going to crown him King despite him trying to stop it.” Sansa confessed softly causing Arya’s shoulders to droop in disappointment. 

She was still trying to wrap her mind around Jon being a Targaryen and now he was to be a king? Her heart sunk further as she realized that meant he would have to stay in King’s Landing and she already knew in her heart she would never be able to bear being in that city again. Not after she had only found pain and death there. 

Arya sunk slowly onto the edge of Sansa’s bed, surprised in the back of her mind that her sister didn’t chide her for sitting on her furniture in her dirty clothes. Sansa walked over slowly and sat beside her, refraining from saying anything of her own thoughts on Jon now being king. She could clearly see the affect the words were having on Arya who was so tired she did not even bother trying to mask her emotions. 

The realization that she would likely never see Jon again after just being reunited with him filled her and Arya felt her heart squeeze tight like she was being crushed. She put her hands to her chest and tried to draw a deep calming breath and instead startled both Sansa and herself when a guttural sob broke out of her. 

The tears that she had been holding back for weeks, years even, suddenly all began to rush out at once and Arya collapsed into herself as harsh sobs began to shake her. She cried for Jon, being thrust into a role he did not want, she cried for the people of King’s Landing dead or mourning. She even cried for Daenerys and the madness she had succumbed to. She cried for the loss of the last dragon and the world losing a little bit of magic. She cried for her lost brothers, for her mother and father and her friends. Arya cried and cried, tears she had not known she was keeping in. 

She wept for Gendry, for not knowing if he was alive and for the look on his face when she rejected his proposal. She cried for the people of the North, lost in the battle. She cried for the Unsullied and the Dothraki who died so far from their homes. She cried for the woman and her daughter who had saved her and that she had tried to save and instead had watched burn. 

Arya let Sansa steer her so that she was laying down in her lap and she cried for her sister and all the terrible things that she had faced. She felt her sister run her hands comfortingly through her tangled hair but she did not try to reassure her that everything would be okay because Sansa had been told too many lies to feed her any. 

Arya cried for Beric who had died protecting her and Sandor who had told her it was okay for her to live. She cried for Bran and all the things he had faced and the thing he was now. Arya shook and sobbed, noises coming out of her like a dying animal, noises that she had not known that she was capable of making. She felt like every last part of her was coming apart as if all of the tattered and torn pieces of her soul were finally unraveling. 

Most of all, Arya cried for herself. For the girl she lost and the girl she had become. She cried for the Arya Stark who might have been. 

As she cried a part of Arya found herself longing for No One because No One did not love anyone. No One would not feel pain like this. 

XxX 

Arya sobbed so much the night before that she had cried herself to sleep, something that she had not done since she was a very small child. She awoke in Sansa’s bed and as she slowly stood, she found she felt lighter than she had in years. 

She ran her hand over her puffy eyes and looked around the room, wondering where Sansa had gone to before the door opened. Arya expected her sister but to her surprise a maester wheeled Bran in, before nodding at her and leaving. 

Arya sunk onto the bed again as she stared at her little brother in silence. He stared unnervingly back at her. A small part of her still wanted to run and hug him but she felt too fragile to touch after last night. 

“You knew.” Arya whispered; her throat raw from crying. “You knew what would happen and you did nothing to stop it.” 

“No. I only knew what might happen.” Bran explained emotionlessly. Arya wondered if she would ever understand the man or thing he was now. 

Her little brother’s eyes stared vacantly at her but it was not Bran that was looking out at her and Arya felt her shoulders slump in defeat. 

“I don’t know what’s worse; not knowing what is going to happen or knowing what might before it does.” Arya whispered to her hands. She did not really expect Bran to answer as he so often didn’t so she started a little when he spoke. 

“I don’t know either. I don’t remember any other way.” 

XxX 

The weeks passed slowly, Arya only knowing that time was passing by looking at the state of the repairs on the castle. She spent her days working on rebuilding the walls and the buildings, and when being around people got too much she would flee to the woods with her bow and go hunting. The people would always cheer when she brought fresh meat to the castle and she let them think that was why she did it. They did not need to know it was solitude she was truly hunting. 

She spent her nights plagued by nightmares that felt more real than her real life. They didn’t discuss it but Arya took up residence in Sansa’s room, spending her nights huddled beside her sister as they both fought off their own private nightmares. They didn’t discuss those either. 

Sometimes Sansa would have dreams so bad she would cry out and trash wildly before Arya could wake her. She received more than one bruise for her efforts. After dreams like that Sansa would not go back to sleep, instead choosing to walk the castle grounds. Some nights Arya would walk with her, on others when her body was too tired from a hard day of work she would go and sleep at the foot of Bran’s bed. Her brother might be strange and not the boy she once knew but Arya was not the little girl she had been once either. She felt safe there at his feet and it was better than being alone. 

Her siblings did not speak to her about her sleeping habits or suggest that she sleep in her own room for which Arya was grateful. It made her feel weak that she needed someone beside her at night but Arya could not bear the thought of facing her demons alone. She had done that long enough. 

She still felt adrift without her list of names and falling asleep was hard without the names crossing her lips like a nighttime pray. But Sandor was right and she didn’t want to live her life just thinking of revenge, besides there was no one left alive for her to want revenge on. By one way or another her list was complete. 

Arya tried to remember the girl she was before she had ever left Winterfell, before she had first gone to King’s Landing but she couldn’t. Just as she now had trouble recalling her father’s voice or Rickon’s face she could no longer remember the girl she was before her life was shrouded in darkness. 

Some days she would spar with Brienne or her squire, Podrick, but none of their hearts were really in it. Podrick was no match for Arya as it was and Brienne and her were both too locked in their private grief to but up much of a fight. 

Everything she saw seemed to remind Arya of someone she lost. Barking dogs made her think of Sandor, swords made her think of Syrio. Flames reminded her of Beric and everywhere she looked she was hit by memories of Robb or Rickon, her mother or father. She even remembered Theon fondly once or twice. 

The worst was the sound of metal hitting metal. 

Every swing of a hammer felt like a hammer to her heart. 

She overheard Sansa telling Ser Brienne that Storm’s End was being given to an Edric Storm, another supposed bastard of the long dead king who had somehow managed to survive both Cersei’s hunt and the following war. Arya didn’t care about who the man was or how he survived all she cared about was that Gendry was not to be lord of Storm’s End. 

That he had died in the destruction of King’s Landing like she believed. 

Arya had thought she had no more tears left in her but when she and Joramun fled to the woods Arya found she was very wrong indeed. 

Grief overcame her and she sobbed and raged to the unforgiving winter sky, cursing all of the gods for taking him from her. Cursing him for dying and mostly cursing herself for letting him die thinking she didn’t love him. 

XxX 

Weeks turned into months and Arya learned to live with her grief. She tucked memories of the many people she had lost away in her heart, not trying to forget them like she did when she was No One but to keep their memory safe for when she needed it. 

Ever so slowly she started to sleep in her own room. Some nights she had nightmares so terrible that she crawled into bed beside Sansa who always kept her window open for her despite the chill because she knew Arya hated to be too warm or she curled up at Bran’s feet and he whispered stories to her in the dark, stories she knew were more truth than any she had been told before. Some nights she could be as fierce as a wolverine and she could face the nightmares on her own. Some nights she did not dream at all. 

Those were her favorite nights. 

They received a raven that the capital has been rebuilt enough to host Jon’s coronation ceremony. He had been crowned king many moons ago but this was the affair where all the Lords and Ladies would come to swear fealty to him. Jon wrote himself to ask them to be there for him. 

Arya was quick to refuse the invite; she could not bear the thought of being in that city again. Not after all she had seen there. She had only recently stopped smelling the phantom scent of burning flesh every day. 

Sansa curled her fingers around the note, the paper crinkling, before looking hard at Arya. 

“I don’t want to go either.” her blue eyes were bright as she looked across the table at her sister. Bran sat quietly by her side; Arya wondered if he was even paying attention to their discussion since he likely already knew the outcome. “Neither of us has ever known anything but pain in that city but this is Jon.” Sansa’s eyes pleaded with her as she spoke. “He is our family and our king. We owe him this much.” 

Arya’s fingers curled into her palms and the bite of her nails grounded her. She could be brave for Jon. She was Arya Stark after all. She did not run from the things that scared her and she had done countless things braver than going into a city full of ghosts. She nodded to her sister and drew a shaky breath. 

She was growing tired of having to be brave. 

XxX 

Arya spent the whole ride south trying not to think about how she shouldn’t have left the castle. She had hoped to never head south again, at least not to this destination. She had tried one last time to convince her sister that there should always be a Stark in Winterfell but she had just looked down her nose at her until Arya mounted Joramun. 

The nightmares came back worse on the road. Arya’s only silver lining was that her night terrors did not cause her to wake up screaming. It was bad enough when she screamed in the castle. If she did it on the road all of the people with her would know. 

They traveled with very small company, only ten of them total. They saw no reason to draw attention to themselves. It was still unsure how the smallfolk were reacting to their new king but Arya was pleased they did not run into any bandits on the trip. Already Jon’s reign was faring better than Joffrey’s started. 

When they reached King’s Landing Arya was surprised to find a city and not a ruin. It was a much smaller city than the one she had arrived in all those months ago to be sure but it was no longer the smoking ruin of her dreams. The people had been hard at work rebuilding their lives. 

Despite the clean up on the city Arya still felt like she smelled smoke and her ears began to ring a little in memory despite the fact that the ringing had finally faded. She could taste ash in her mouth and everywhere she turned she felt like was seeing corpses from the corner of her eyes. 

Arriving at the castle brought her little relief for all she could hear was Sandor’s voice telling her to go. Arya wanted to go, she wanted to turn and leave and never stop going. 

Coming here was a mistake. 

She followed after the others wordlessly to the throne room and watched halfheartedly as Sansa hugged Jon. Seeing him with a crown on his head was more disorientating than she had expected. She noticed with some interest that Ser Davos stood by the table wearing the Hand of the King pin and Lord Tyrion was on his other side, motioning for Ser Brienne to step to the corner of the room with him. Arya watched them go with little interest, it was better than looking at Jon with a crown on his head. 

Jon approached her slowly, like she was a frightened animal. She huffed at that but could not get her feet to move. She hated that he was going to stay here, in this town that had never been kind to any of them. 

“You know I never wanted any of this.” Jon whispered as he neared her, his breath so soft Arya doubted anyone else in the room could hear him. Not that it mattered if they did, it was common knowledge to everyone here. 

“I know.” Arya whispered with a nod. “That’s why you’ll be a great king.” 

Jon smiled at her sadly and her feet finally listened to her mind letting her step forward to fall into his waiting arms. She meant what she said, Jon would be a great king. He was an honorable man and he would be just with his people. He would be a far cry better than any ruler in recent history. 

“You’ll do well down here.” Arya whispered into his shoulder. “One of the Starks has to succeed in the south.” 

Jon tensed at her words. “I’m not a Stark.” Jon muttered remorsefully into her hair. 

Arya stiffened as her mind drifted back to the godswood when he had told them the truth about his parentage and broken what had been left of her heart. She hadn’t said anything back then, his confession too much for her to wrap her mind around at the time. Now though she knew how she felt about her brother. For he would never be a cousin to her. 

“No matter how many people call you Targaryen you will always be a Stark to me.” Arya whispered, pulling back so that she could look Jon in the eye while she said it. His gray eyes brightened at the words and Arya squeezed his arm before stepping out of the way so he could hug Bran. 

She took a deep breath to steady herself, she had never been good with discussion of feelings. She felt slightly exposed and she crossed her hands behind her back to try to ground herself. The sound of the door opening behind her caused her to look over her shoulder curiously, she had thought that everyone joining them was already there. 

A gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it and Arya turned to face the door fully as she took in the familiar figure standing in the doorway. He paused as the door fell shut behind him, clearly at a loss as what to do. 

Gendry lifted a hand to his hair, which Arya noticed he was finally growing out again, and eyed her wearily as if his very appearance alive and whole wasn’t causing thick waves of shock through her. 

She wanted to close the distance between them and throw her arms around him or at the very least reach out and feel his pulse but her feet were once again rooted to the floor. Gendry seemed to be in the same state as he did not try to approach her. Didn’t the bull know she had already mourned him for months? Why wasn’t he coming to her? Surely, he wasn’t still nursing anger from her rejection? 

“Thought you were dead.” Arya finally confessed when it became clear Gendry wasn’t going to speak first, a blush heating her cheeks when her voice broke on the last word. 

Gendry started a little at that, his eyes going wide with surprise as he looked at her. “Why?” 

Arya snorted. He was joking, right? How could she have not thought that when she had heard nothing to lead her to thinking otherwise. “Heard someone else was named Lord of Storm’s End. Last I heard you were the Lord there.” 

Arya decided to leave out the part where she cried for days afterwards on hearing the news or how she had raged at herself for letting him die thinking she didn’t want to be with him. 

Gendry shrugged awkwardly and shifted under her gaze. His eyes darted past her for a moment and Arya remembered that they were not the only people in the room. He answered her anyway, in spite of their audience. “I refused it. Never wanted to be a lord anyway.” 

Arya raised an eyebrow at his words. She had not been expecting that. He had seemed so happy that night he came to her and told her he was celebrating being a lord. He had asked her to be his Lady for Seven’s sake! “You seemed happy enough about it when the Dragon Queen made you one.” 

Gendry looked at her stubbornly, tugging at his shirt collar clearly uneasy at being watched by so many inquisitive faces. “Only cause I thought that was what you wanted.” he admitted in a rush, the tips of his ears going pink. 

Ignoring the sharp intake of breath from behind her Arya shook her head at him. Did he really not know her at all? “That’s stupid.” a sudden surge of anger filled her at the sight of him. There he was before her, alive and well and she had spent months thinking he had gotten burned to a crisp or crushed under rubble. “You could have sent word you were alive. Why didn’t you come back to Winterfell?” 

She was torn between the desire to touch him and make sure he was really there and hitting him on the back of the head for making her worry for so long. 

“I didn’t think you wanted me there.” Gendry admitted, looking down at his feet sheepishly. 

“That’s stupider.” Arya shook her head even though part of her understood where he was coming from. They had parted on uncertain terms after all. She ignored the voice shouting at her that it was all her fault. 

Gendry looked up at her with a look torn between shame and relief and they eyed each other silently for a moment before Arya nodded and turned back to her sibling. They would continue their discussion later in private, away from curious onlookers. She didn’t want an audience for what she had to say to him anyway. 

When she turned back everyone quickly adverted their gaze, trying to pretend they hadn’t all been watching curiously. The only one who didn’t was Bran who simply met her eyes and smiled serenely. 

XxX 

The coronation was a small simple affair but it still left Arya feeling winded watching all those people bend the knee to Jon. Her older brother truly was the king of the seven realms now. She couldn’t deny it anymore. She didn’t know which one of them was going to have a harder time accepting that. 

There was a large party to celebrate the new king at the Red Keep and Arya made a small appearance only because Sansa told her she had to. She declined all offers of wine and ale and only stayed long enough for people to see her before sneaking outside. She wondered if she would always hate being around large groups of people. Seeing how she always had Arya had a feeling it wasn’t a trait that was likely to change for her. 

She was not at all surprised to find Gendry waiting for her in the empty courtyard, sitting on the edge of a half-broken fountain devoid of water. She supposed aesthetic items were not high on the capital’s repair list. 

Arya sat beside him, careful to keep a little bit of distance between them, and looked around the empty courtyard unable to fight down a shiver. She wasn’t cold but she felt like she was surrounded by ghosts. 

Gendry looked at her in concern but she chose to ignore it. 

“Have you been drinking?” she asked wearily. She couldn’t smell any alcohol but you never knew. 

Gendry shook his head no quickly. He looked a bit sheepish as he did so. “Learned my lesson last time.” 

Arya nodded and looked up at him curiously, noticing a small scar on his cheekbone that hadn’t been there before. It looked white in the moonlight. She was struck by the sudden urge to lean over and kiss it or at least run her fingers over it. 

“Last time we spoke you asked me to be your lady.” Arya whispered in an attempt to distract herself from his face. 

Gendry scoffed as he dropped his head into his hands, whether in shame or embarrassment Arya couldn’t really tell. “Did you think I’d forgotten?” 

“A lot has happened since then.” Arya retorted with a shrug, her eyes moving over the half-rebuilt courtyard as she spoke. She remembered the last time she entered this courtyard with Sandor and drew a shaky breath at the thought of him. She could hear him mocking them in the back of her mind. 

“I remember how stupid I was.” Gendry grunted making Arya’s heart sink and her eyes snap back over to him. She should have known it had only been the ale talking that night. Stupid of her to ever think it was anything else. “You don’t ask a wolf to climb into a cage.” 

Arya’s mouth nearly dropped in astonishment at his words, but she had just enough control to keep it shut as her mind whirled faster than she could keep up with. Gendry stared back at her with wide blue eyes, his voice earnest and urgent as he continued. His words stumbled over themselves in his haste to get them out, she wondered dimly how long he had been holding them in. “I’m not a lord Arya. I’m a bastard. I’m not good with a fork but I can swing a hammer. I have no name, no titles, no houses. I have nothing to offer you but myself.” 

She swallowed hard at this. She was not used to someone saying such things to her. This was the stuff of songs and Arya had never had much time for those. Besides that, she was still learning how to live with herself and her ghosts, she didn’t know if she was ready to be with someone the way he wanted them to be. No matter how much she missed Gendry or how she felt about him Arya wasn’t sure if she was ready for this just yet. But Gendry’s eyes on her were full of nothing but love and she knew that he would never press her or ask her to give more than she was ready for. 

“That’s more than enough.” Arya whispered in response, leaning her arm against his. She let out a breath of relief and felt some tension leave her as she felt his arm warm against hers. He really was there. 

Gendry smiled at her words and moved his hand so their fingers were brushing. He did not push her for more than that, did not expect her to make some declaration of love or affection in return. “Can I come back to Winterfell with you?” he asked nervously before shaking his head. “Or go with you, wherever you want to go.” 

When she was a child Arya used to dream about becoming a great warrior and going off on adventures in far off places, never stopping or going to the same place twice. But she was not a child anymore and she had already lived that way before. It was time for her to have a new adventure. 

Arya leaned her head against his shoulder, part of her wanted to reach up and kiss him but she knew that there would be plenty of time for that later. For right now, this was enough. “I’m going home.” she whispered as she threaded her fingers through his. “Of course, you’re coming with me.”


End file.
